close to your chest
where there is restricted access,
where I can't reach;
makes me want to wrench the time back
from the clenched fists belonging to
the hands striking midnight
more often than not.
No longer an interlude,
this is the main event we tried to
stretch out.
Your hands clasped over mine
Your hands clasped over mine
started feeling more like
you were pushing me closer
towards myself.
Words became unwelcome
in your atmosphere and
they found shelter in my head instead,
tall as the trees looming above us;
pink and in full bloom.
This is growing weak and
I'm still waiting for the dust to settle.